The air thick with pine and pitch
my reel spins, rod bends,
line goes taut.
A pink mouthed trout flies from the water
and lidless eyes go to sky.
The creature lurches, and together
we float over the silted bed,
the granite rocks.
Then a silver blue flaps on the river bank,
gasps land's atmosphere.
Gills seal and appendages grow.
I swallow the wooly worm,
and the world becomes a river in me,
my eyes the reflection of birds flying.
From the dead, great grandfather
calls to me,
tells me to go home
to my backyard animals,
turning tame.